Sherlock Prompts
by Dreigiau
Summary: Prompt fills from Tumblr for the Sherlock fandom.
1. Chapter 1

Anon Prompt: Mystrade – Lestrade has been hospitalised.

* * *

The fuss around his head wound had finally abated, and Greg sat still as a single nurse prodded gently at the back of his skull. The pain was an ache, rather than sharp, and not bad enough to cause him to wince. There was no deep wound, just a few small scrapes which had stung as they had been cleaned out.

"Well Mr. Lestrade, it looks like you're going to be just fine. We'd like to keep you in overnight, as there seems to be some very mild concussion. You'll be fine to leave tomorrow morning after we've checked you over," the nurse told him, moving around to stand in front of him as she spoke.  
"I suppose you're going to insist that I stay?" Greg asked.

"It's strongly recommended, though of course we can't make you stay for the night. Head injuries can be dangerous for some time after they actually happen," she replied.

"Right, of course. Is there anywhere I can go to make a call?" Greg's phone had been switched off inside his pocket since he had arrived, and he had been itching to call Mycroft to tell him he would be late home.

"Just out in the hallway will be fine," she told him. "So long as you promise to sit down if you start to feel dizzy." Greg nodded, mock saluting as she stepped out through the curtains surrounding the bed he was sitting on.

Out in the hallway a few minutes later Greg pressed his phone to his ear and waited for Mycroft to pick up on the other end. As the ringing played out, he wondered idly if he could go home if he told the nurse that Mycroft would be there to keep an eye on him. It would probably work, but with Mycroft's uncertain working hours he doubted that it was the best idea. While he felt fine, he knew that the nurse was right about the potential dangers of the bash to the head.

"Gregory?" Greg did his best to avoid calling Mycroft while either of them was working, so the hint of confusion in his voice as he answered the phone was not surprising.

"Hey, do you have a minute?" Greg asked, leaning back against the wall and keeping the phone pressed to his ear.

"I have an afternoon of paperwork which can wait for a moment. Is everything okay?" Mycroft's office was always unnaturally quiet, and Greg could hear the click of the other man placing his pen down on the desk.

"Fine," Greg reassured him immediately. "I'm at the hospital, took a bit of a knock to the head chasing after your brother earlier today. Thought you'd want to know that they want to keep me in overnight."

"Thank you got calling, I would have worried." There was silence from Mycroft's end of the phone, and Greg waited for a moment for him to continue. "I'll have someone bring you an overnight bag."

"Right, thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Certainly. Goodbye, Gregory." The line went dead, and Greg frowned at his phone for a moment. He had hardly been expecting gushing declarations of love, but a little more concern would not have gone amiss. Mycroft may not need to ask him for the details in order to find them out, but Greg did not think asking which hospital he was at was too much to ask of the other man.

Mycroft arrived at the hospital ten minutes before the end of visiting hours, brushing through the curtain around Greg's bed and dropping an overnight bag at the end of the mattress. Greg had been trying to keep himself amused with a spare book which one of the nurses had brought round for him and it had not been passing the time as quickly as he had hoped.

"Hello." Mycroft settled himself into the plastic chair beside the bed, looking as entirely at ease as he always did.

"Hey, wasn't expecting to see you this evening." Greg sat up a little more, swinging his legs off of the side of the bed so that he could face Mycroft more easily.

"I'm aware that I was not, perhaps, as comforting as I could have been on the phone. I wanted to see you." Mycroft paused. "You will be okay?"

"It's just a bump," Greg told him. "They're only keeping me in because it knocked me out. No real harm done."

They spoke quietly until nearly an hour after the end of visiting time. None of the hospital staff made any attempt to get Mycroft to leave. As the conversation trailed off Greg muffled a yawn against his hand, rolling his shoulders against the tension in his back.

"I should leave you to rest," Mycroft muttered, leaning towards Greg and pressing a kiss first to his forehead, then to his lips. "Tomorrow looks to be quiet, I'll come and pick you up first thing in the morning."

"Mhm." Greg stood along with Mycroft, tugging him into a tight hug. "Thanks for coming."

"I could get them to sign you out, if you'd rather," Mycroft suggested. Greg shook his head.

"I should listen to the doctors. It is their job, after all." The policeman pressed forwards into a brief kiss before releasing the hug. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow." With a rustle of curtain, Mycroft was gone, and Greg turned to the overnight bag so that he could settle in for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Anon Prompt: Johnlock - John and Sherlock visit Harry.

* * *

The small house smelled of roasting chicken and potatoes, the outcome of a morning of work by the woman who was laying the table up with three places. Harry Watson had not cooked a Sunday roast for months, but since John had told her that he was free to visit for lunch she had been planning to impress. The fact that he had called back a week later to ask if he could bring someone with him had convinced her that a roast was the best option. It would feed three easily, showed enough effort for meeting the girlfriend John would not doubt be bringing with him, and would leave her with enough leftovers for another meal later in the week.

The doorbell rang as she was checking the potatoes, and she slid them back into the oven before making her way through the house to answer it.  
"John!" As soon as the door was open, she pulled her brother into a brief hug. While their relationship had been difficult, it was improving, and she took it as a step in the right direction when he hugged her back. She stepped back into the hallway after releasing him, waiting for him and his guest to step into the house. The person who followed John through the door was not the girlfriend that Harry had been expecting. She recognised him, of course she did. She had seen him standing beside her brother often enough on the news, or in photos in the paper. He was shorter that he looked on the television, though he still towered over both herself and John. "And this must be your guest."

"Sherlock Holmes." He held out a hand for her to shake, and she did so before shutting the front door behind them and turning back into the house to lead them towards the kitchen.

"You know, I thought you were going to bring a new girlfriend to meet me," Harry called back to John.

"Correct idea, wrong gender." Sherlock replied instead of John, and Harry tried not to trip over her own feet with shock as she turned to look at the two men.

"Sherlock," John hissed, arms folded as he glared up the taller man.

"She made an observation, I corrected it," Sherlock replied, clearly not particularly worried by John's apparent annoyance.

"The same mistake you made when you deduced my phone." He seemed on the verge of pushing into a full argument, but instead turned to face Harriet. "Sorry. That wasn't… well, wasn't exactly the plan." Sherlock snorted derisively behind him, and Harry saw John's jaw set.

"It's fine," she interrupted quickly, turning back to the kitchen. "Dinner should be ready, I'll dish up and we can talk while we eat."

They did not talk while they ate. John was busy glaring at Sherlock while the man in question pointedly ignored the glaring. Harry glanced between the two of them, waiting for the argument that she knew John was too polite to let bubble over. When the plates were empty, Sherlock excused himself to the bathroom before pudding. Harry settled back into her seat, taking advantage of Sherlock's absence to talk to her brother.

"So… didn't know you liked blokes." She winced to herself. There was probably a less heavy handed way of starting the conversation, but she had never been good at discussing issues. It was part of what had led to her divorce, eventually, and what had made the escape of alcohol so appealing.

"No one did," John told her, and she wondered if it was a way of reassuring her that he had not been hiding it from her particularly.

"Why?" She was not angry, not really. But when they were younger she had always been jealous that John got to be the normal one.

"I saw what you had to deal with at school, and how Dad reacted. Then there was the army." John shrugged.

"Playing straight made your life easier," she finished for him, trying to keep the venom out of her voice at the fact that her brother had had that option.

"Yeah, until I met him and it didn't make life easier anymore, because he knew and he doesn't let things be. I was planning to tell you today, though not quite like this." Harry smiled, reaching across the table to pat his arm gently.

"I'm happy for you, even if you have chosen a mad one. How long's it been? Was it before he-" She gestured vaguely, not wanting to mention the fake suicide.

"Nearly six months. Since a few months after he got back. It's been… difficult. Sometimes I'm still not sure I trust him, but we're getting there."

"So long as you're happy. I'll warn him off breaking your heart later. Do the whole older sibling thing," Harry said, starting to clear the table.

"I doubt he'll listen," John told her, standing to help with the dishes. "How've things been for you?"

"Good, yeah. I had a date last week, I think it went well. I'm seeing her again on Friday for dinner," she told him, stacking plates into the dishwasher as she spoke. "And next week, I'm two and a half years sober."

"That's great Harry. Really great." Harry could hear the smile in his voice, and she knew that he meant it. He had been so proud that she had been sorting herself out, even if it had taken her a while.

"What's your boyfriend up to, then? He's been gone a while." She shifted the conversation away, because emotional conversation about their pride in each other had never been something that they were good at.

"Probably deducing the loo roll," John muttered, looking up in surprise when Harry laughed.

"There's nothing that interesting about my loo roll," she promised him, and John shook his head with a smile.

"Harry, he knew I was an invalidated soldier and a doctor with a psychosomatic limp before we'd even spoken. He worked out pretty much everything about you except from the fact that you were a woman from my phone after using it to send one text. He can probably tell what job you do from your bathroom."

"So he is as good as you say on your website. I thought you were just gushing." She paused, and John was slightly concerned when she turned suddenly, shaking the serving spoon she had just picked up at him. "So I was right! You did have a crush on him."

"You make me sound like a teenager," John argued.

The rest of their visit passed fairly comfortably. Sherlock deduced the fact that Harry had a date later in the week, and that she had been dog sitting the week before. John was impressed with how tame he kept his deductions.

"You did not wish me to out you to your sister, despite her reaction being almost sure to be either positive or neutral." They were walking back to the train station to catch their train back to London when Sherlock spoke, and John glanced over at him.

"I would have preferred to tell her on my own terms, yes," he agreed, though Sherlock's unexpected comment earlier in the afternoon had actually made his life somewhat easier. He had not been entirely sure how he was going to bring up the topic. "But you gave us space to talk about it, too. Thank you." Sherlock did not reply, but John caught sight of a quick smile which was gone almost as soon as it arrived. Sherlock did not make typical gestures when he thought he may have upset his partner, but he did make gestures. John always did his best to pick up on them and let the detective know that he had noticed.


	3. Chapter 3

Mialewington's Prompt: Mycroftt is woken to find Greg has changed his ringtone to "Cops and robbers" By the Hoosiers (awsome song!) and a cup cake is left on Mycs desk with a small cute note. Please?

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was one of those rare human beings who had managed to master the art of the power nap. A skill envied by those who worked long shifts and students during deadline week alike. He could put his head down and wake up almost entirely refreshed just twenty minutes later, ready to continue facing whichever crisis was in the process of unfolding. It was the reason that he could work for days at a time when required, able to keep control in a situation while his co-workers and counterparts around the world found themselves crashing after the first thirty six hours.

He had been in the office for just over fifty hours, and was on his second power nap of the day, just after lunch. Mycroft's alarm went off, informing him loudly and obnoxiously that his twenty minutes was up. He rolled his neck carefully as he lifted his head from where it had been pillowed on his arms, wincing slightly at the stiffness in it. He should invest in a good pillow, but there seemed something unprofessional about keeping a pillow in the office.  
Reaching over to his phone and cutting the alarm off, Mycroft turned to his computer to check for any email updates from the past few minutes. The inbox was blessedly empty, and he allowed himself a brief moment of hope that the situation in America had calmed enough for his next attempt at sleep to take place in an actual bed.

A large mug of steaming coffee sat on the far edge of his desk, and he reached for it with a smile. Usually he had to call for a coffee after his nap finished, his staff were focused on doing their jobs, rather than on keeping him awake. He lifted the mug to take his first sip and turned back to the computer for another inbox check. He was at nearly half an hour without a new message, which was a record since he had arrived at the office two days earlier.

He moved to place the mug down on the coaster beside the keyboard, stopping when he realised that it was already occupied. A cupcake sat on the coaster, a small envelope propped up against the case with his name printed neatly on the front. It had been twelve hours since he had had anything to eat, keeping his stomach quiet with a fairly constant stream of hot drinks. It certainly looked as though it was one of his favourites - a chocolate base, the icing a swirl of lemon and strawberry. He forced himself to reach for the note first, slipping the sheet inside out of the unsealed envelope.

_Mycroft,_

_The plan is to drop in while you're napping, as I know you don't like me to interrupt while you're at work. You probably won't have eaten in a while, and even if you have you deserve a treat. Enjoy the cupcake, and if you haven't had a meal in the past few hours make sure you call for one._

_I have the weekend off, so if the world stops ending before then I'll be home when you get back. I know you'll ignore me if I say not to push yourself too hard, so I just ask that you try to look after yourself._

_Love you,_

_Greg x_

He had just taken the first bite of the cake, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment to just enjoy the flavour, when his computer beeped with the sound of an incoming email. He opened it as he continued to eat, being careful to avoid dropping crumbs into the keyboard.

_Event appears to be over. If you hear nothing more for the next two hours, assume matter settled._

He frowned at the message, dropping the now empty cupcake case into the bin beside his desk. It was not an uncommon way for the long stretches in the office to end, but it did mean that he would spend the next two hours dreading the sound of an incoming email.

The first hour and a half of the time passed quickly, and Mycroft took the time to eat a late lunch, check up on the CCTV which was tracking Sherlock, and finish up some paperwork. His computer did not make a sound, and with half an hour left to go he was optimistic enough to take a brief moment to send Greg a text. He did not like texting, but he did not have the time to call and they had decided to avoid bothering each other at work.

_Work allowing, I'll be home in an hour. Dinner this evening?_

The response came through almost immediately, the vibration from his phone alerting him before the ringtone kicked in. It was not the usual ringing which he had set, and he silenced it as quickly as possible before opening the text.

_Take away and an early night. I'd be too worried that you'd fall asleep in the pudding._

He did not take the time to reply, instead navigating his way into the phone settings. He was fairly convinced that the song, 'Cops and Robbers' had not been on his phone that morning, let alone been his ring tone.


	4. Chapter 4

Shoot-me-now-or-shoot-me-later's prompt: Mycroft and Greg attacked while walking in wood & Greg is badly hurt.

* * *

With one hand linked with Mycroft's and the other loosely gripping a lead, Greg was fairly confident that he had found the perfect way to spend a warm afternoon. The dog running ahead of them belonged to a neighbour who was away on holiday and had asked them to pet sit. Greg had quickly grown attached to the small terrier, Maxwell, who appeared to be happy so long as he got a half hour walk during the day and was allowed to curl up on one of their laps of an evening. A rare, shared afternoon off had allowed them to walk the dog together, and they had driven out of London in order to reach nearby forest.

They had been walking for nearly an hour and were almost back at the car when the afternoon abruptly switched from wonderful to decidedly not so. A group of three young men were gathered near their car, and something about them set off alarm bells for the policeman. He tightened his grip on Mycroft's hand slightly.

"Nice car." The young men were standing between them and the car, and Greg stopped walking, sizing them up. The one who had spoken was clearly in charge, and it took Greg just seconds to recognise the shape of some sort of weapon in the pockets of at least two of the men. Knives, if he had to guess.

"Thanks," Greg replied, managing what he hoped was an easy smile. If his gut instinct was right, there was going to be trouble. Getting defensive was not going to do anything other than make it worse.

"Looks like a rich sort of car, to us. Don't suppose you fellas feel like sharing?" The leader of the group pulled a knife out of his pocket, stepping forward. Greg shifted his weight, releasing Mycroft's hand and turning slightly to place himself in front of his partner.

"Come on, now. No need to do anything stupid," Greg warned, keeping his voice calm. His attention was split evenly between the three men. The two silent ones could be just as dangerous as the one doing the talking. They were probably armed.

"Think we're scared of a couple rich poofs, do you? No chance." The man took another step forward, and Greg frowned.

"Mycroft, get the dog and get in the car," Greg said, ignoring the threat. "We're going home. These kids are all talk." It was not an attempt to challenge them, but to appear confident. Young people with authority problems were a dime a dozen in his line of work, but they would usually back down when they realised their intended victim was not afraid of them. As he watched Mycroft make his way towards the car he took his eye off of the trio for a short moment. A sharp pain in his upper left leg told him he'd made a mistake.

"Shit," one of the backup men swore, taking a step away from the car. "Fuck, what've you done?"

"Gregory!" The three men scattered as Mycroft started towards them. Greg did not have the energy to work out where they had gone, or to try and memorise faces. He dropped to the ground, clutching at his leg. He watched blood start to well out of the knife wound, aware of the pain but somewhat detached from it. It wasn't his first stab wound, and as they went it was fairly shallow, and did not appear to have hit anything that would cause major bleeding. "What do I do?" Mycroft was crouched in front of him, and Greg snapped back into the moment. He had never seen Mycroft look so pale and worried.

"Right, stay calm." Greg was not entirely sure if he was telling himself or Mycroft. He reached out, catching one of his partner's hands. "Mycroft, I need you to stay calm for me. I need my jacket from the car, to get pressure on this. Then I need you to go and get Maxwell, and put him in his cage, okay?" Mycroft nodded, jogging across to the car and bringing the jacket back to Greg.

The small terrier was standing at the exit to the car park, barking at the retreating forms of the three men. Mycroft clipped the lead to his harness, tugging it until he followed him back to the car and jumped into the cage in the boot.

"What next?" Mycroft crouched back in front of Greg, who had started to apply pressure to the wound in his leg. "Gregory, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, love. Just stay calm for me. You're doing great. Help me up, get one of the towels we brought for the dog down on the front seat. Don't want to bleed all over the car. Then I need you to drive me to the hospital. Can you do that for me?" Mycroft nodded mutely, standing and starting to do as Greg had asked.

Hobbling from the front door to the sofa later that evening, Greg settled himself comfortably as he waited for Mycroft to bring through a pot of tea. The dog jumped onto his lap as soon as he was settled, and he winced as he moved it away from the bandage on his leg. The hospital had sewn the wound up, dressed it, and allowed him to leave with the instruction to change it daily and return later in order to get the stitches removed. They had left after making a police report over the incident, and despite going through everything as quickly as possible it was dark by the time they had arrived home.

A pot of tea was set on the table, and Greg watched silently as Mycroft poured two cups and passed him one. Greg's smiled morphed into a frown when Mycroft settled himself at the far end of the sofa.

"Is Maxwell hurting you?" Mycroft reached across as though to shoo the dog from the sofa, and Greg shook his head.

"He's fine. Look, he's not on my leg. Which is also going to be fine. C'mere." Mycroft shifted, letting Greg wrap an arm around his shoulders and settling in against the older man's side. "You've been quiet since we left the car park," Greg commented.

"I am fine, Gregory," Mycroft replied, keeping his gaze on the muted telly on the other side of the room. Maxwell shifted to sniff at the politician's face, and Mycroft pushed him away.

"Hey, none of that." Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft's head, carefully moving the dog away from his partner and letting it settle between him and the arm of the sofa. "Talk to me."

"Earlier today, I did not know what to do. You were hurt and I didn't know how to help. I am unused to situations which are out of my control," Mycroft admitted.

"You can't be prepared for everything, love. And you did great, exactly what I needed you to."

"It could have been worse. If you had been unable to tell me what needed to be done-" Greg pressed a finger to the politician's lips, shushing him gently.

"You would have called for an ambulance, and they would have talked you through what you needed to do," the policeman said, moving to replace his finger with his lips for a brief moment. He winced as he had to twist to do so, pulling on the stitches in his leg. Mycroft shifted away, concern clear on his features. "How about this. I've got to retake my First Aid certificate next month, come and take the course with me. And I'll talk you through the procedures for events like this." He tugged at Mycroft until the younger man relented and laid down, resting his head in Greg's lap, being careful to avoid the bandage. "Don't you dare think that you did anything wrong today."

They stay curled up on the sofa for another hour, Greg gently stroking Mycroft's hair and Maxwell occasionally heaving himself up to lick or nuzzle at Mycroft. Eventually the politician relented, sitting up and pulling the small dog onto his lap. Maxwell yapped happily as Mycroft brought his knees up and laid the dog back against them so that its stomach was bared for Mycroft to scratch.

"We could get one, you know," Greg suggested, reaching over to ruffle the fur on Maxwell's head. "We've got the time, now you're working from home more. We've got the space, out in the garden."

"Gregory, the first time we walked the dog together you got stabbed. Believe me when I say that I have no inclination to purchase an animal that we will have to walk for years to come."

"One, it was a rare occurrence, love. We're not going to run into idiots like that every time we go out. Two, we could get a big dog. No one would try anything if you had a big dog with you. Terriers aren't exactly scary." Maxwell whined as Mycroft's hand on his stomach slowed.

"We can consider it," he allowed.


End file.
